Mine to Kill
by CaladriaHaru
Summary: Vincent Phantomhive is extremely possessive of everything he owns, including Deiderich.  After a near-fatal adventure in which he nearly loses his friend, Vincent vents his feelings.  Warning:PG13 and contains a DeiderichxVincent Phantomhive pai


WARNING: This is a DeiderichxVincent Phantomhive fiction. It involves adult situations and implied adultery. If you have never read the manga, you haven't met the REAL Deiderich who is incredibly HOT and this fic is going to seem…very odd to you. Deiderich is one of the Evil Nobles and was apparently a close friend of Vincent Phantomhive's. I'm only publishing this here because there's just precious little of DeedsxVincent out there in general .

This fic was first published for the DeiderichxVincent fan club at bb . net -CaladriaHaru

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"Mine to Kill"

Deiderich crouched over the parchment, lost in his work. This last correspondence he had intercepted from a suspected German spy in London was damning, but still cryptic. He could make out the gist of the plan, but not enough to give Vincent concrete intelligence to move forward; the code was one he was familiar with, but it was archaic. Trying to read through the drops of crimson and smeared brownish stains over a full one-third of the document only added to the difficulty. With a grunt of frustration he sat up and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the swirling ink impressions in his head to cease snaking about and settle.

"If they only knew the work you did for me..."

Deiderich sat up straight. He was so engrossed in the task at hand that he hadn't even heard the soft tread behind him.

"The work you do for Her Majesty, I should say," Vincent Phantomhive corrected himself as he leaned over Deiderich's shoulder to peer at his work in progress.

The ominous scent of gunpowder clung to him now along with a hint of perspiration. The combination of the two was more seductive than any cologne on the Earl of Phantomhive because it suggested that this lord did not spend his time in parlors; he always had one foot in a dangerous scheme that had him running through darkened London streets – a smiling harbinger of death.

"No, you were right the first time," Deiderich grumbled and pushed the paper away, just managing to keep his composure even though Vincent's sudden proximity and scent had elicited a warm response. "Vincent, you are becoming a little too free with that pistol, don't you think? We might have been able to get more out of him. As it is we only have this to go on and it's a bloody mess, literally." He gestured to the paper before him.

In answer, Vincent leaned closer until he was over the man's shoulder and gently picked up Deiderich's right hand, running his fingers along the thick coating of bandages the German noble had insisted on applying himself earlier. The shadow of blood was just beginning to pink and show through the mass of hastily-wrapped gauze.

Vincent turned his head and Deiderich could feel those eyes boring into him, answering his comment with the touch.

"I wasn't in danger. I had the situation under control." Deiderich's voice was soft, almost an apology. "It wasn't the first time I've blocked a knife to the gut, and he was practically in my arms at that moment. He would have been easily subdued."

"He drew your blood, Deiderich." Vincent's voice was low, full of a darkness that made Deiderich shiver.

Deiderich clenched his fist and pulled it away, out of view. He disliked the fact that he had been injured on so trivial an exploit. The look on Vincent's face after he had fired the fateful shot, silent, demonic rage when the man was normally as composed as a master artisan's statue, created an almost guilty sensation in Deiderich's chest. He knew exactly what that scene had looked like.

"He drew my blood, and thus he paid the price?"

Vincent boldly nuzzled the hair next to his lover's ear. "Oh no. Not nearly, but paid enough for my patience at the moment."

Deiderich shuddered and then nearly jumped as Vincent bit his ear. Hard. Hard enough to bruise and to possibly draw more blood. He inhaled sharply and turned his head, eyes locking with that implacable Phantomhive gaze

"And never question my actions in such cases, Deiderich," Vincent warned as their eyes finally met. "If you don't like the outcome, then tender your lifeblood more dearly."

Deiderich smiled in spite of his lover's ominous tone and he swiveled his chair towards the other man. "But why should I do that when, look, I get all of this delightful attention," his eyes glanced down at the small tray of sandwiches in Vincent's hands. It was an honor to be personally served by the head of the household when Tanaka normally brought him his snacks. Vincent knew Deiderich's dislike of the butler and had no doubt brought them in himself as a peace offering for killing the spy before he could be properly interrogated.

Vincent straightened, laughed lightly (frighteninly!) and set the plate of sandwiches on the table. "I simply thought you would be hungry. Ring my room when you are finished decoding the message."

Back to his room. Back to his wife. _Ahhh, Vincent, you are such a subtle villain!_ Deiderich thought.

"I _am_ hungry," Deiderich responded, purposefully using his right hand to grab Vincent's wrist before it withdrew from the table entirely. He winced slightly from the pain, enjoying it for the moment, as Vincent's eyebrows drew together.

"It is no hardship for me if you choose to hurt yourself further," he responded with all of the imperious air his station allowed.

Deiderich pulled his arm forward and caught Vincent around the waist as he ended up in the chair with him. His bandaged hand left the wrist and traveled to the finely sculpted face, his thumb brushing the mole under Vincent's eye tenderly, affectionately.

And then Vincent's lips were on his, opening hungrily, and Deiderich forgot all about the pain in his hand as he pulled the man closer and tasted him, felt his lover exercise his frustration and fear at what he believed was a fatal stab. There was no way Vincent could have seen him block the attack in the final moment. To the Earl of Phantomhive it would have appeared that the spy had found his target when he rushed Deiderich in the last second, the glint of lamplight upon the blade.

The words were not needed. The subtext of anxiety and relief was there for Deiderich to plainly feel, and this passionate submission was proof enough that Vincent craved the touch of this living flesh to dispel the worry and fear he could never outwardly show. Vincent's legs shifted, his knees on either side of Deiderich's hips as he took control of the kiss. The earl's hands felt the plane of his lover's cheek, his jaw, his neck, and Deiderich wrapped his arms around his waist as the sweet pressure began to build.

When Deiderich felt as if his toes would curl in upon themselves from the taste and warmth of his lover's mouth, Vincent abruptly pulled away.

"You are never to leave my service until I personally dismiss you," The Earl of Phantomhive commanded and reached for the buckles and belts separating them, "you would do well to remember it."

"Never," Deiderich promised.

_I will never leave you, to your own darkness_, he thought as their bodies became one and he swallowed Vincent's moan with passionate kisses.

_Never_.

FIN


End file.
